Say You Feel It Too
by OnceInALifetime
Summary: Booth couldn't be in love with Bones. After all, Sweets had proof that his love was nothing more than an unfortunate reaction to the coma. Unless, of course, Sweets was lying. Takes place immediately after 5x01.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : I don't own _Bones_ or anything _Bones-_ related. Unfortunately, nor do I own David Boreanaz.

 **Notes** : I have almost all of this written already, and I'll be posting the next chapter in a few days!

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"Look, this better be important. I don't brave the rain at this time of night for just anybody," Angela commented as she closed her umbrella and unsuccessfully shook off the excess rain clinging to it. "I'm serious, Booth. Don't think you can just charm smile your way out of the huge favour you now owe me."

Angela glanced up from her umbrella and instantly felt remorse for her playful tone. Booth looked like crap. No, it was more than that, she thought. He looked sad and confused, an expression she was unfamiliar with seeing on him. "I- Booth, what's going on?

"Thanks for meeting me," Booth said, glancing up at her. "I know it's late, and I won't keep you long. I just… I need the truth about something, and I don't know who else to ask."

"Oh… okay," Angela responded, sitting across the table from Booth. It _was_ late, and the diner was nearly empty. There was a couple in the far booth, heads bent low over a shared slice of apple pie, lost in their own world, unaware of Booth's turmoil only a few seats over. She had only seen this expression on his face a handful of times before, and was trying to place where she had seen it, when it suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks. "Oh god Booth, is this about the tumor?"

"What? No, no!" he instantly replied. "Well, kind of, but it's nothing to do with my health, I promise." He half-smiled at the relief that visibly swept over her. "You thought I asked you to meet me at a diner so I could tell you I have another tumor?"

"Not really," she replied, "but I've only ever seen you like this right before you had the surgery. Oh, and when you've had a bad fight with Brennan." Booth's eyes darted away from hers for the briefest of moments, but it was enough. "Something happened with Brennan? Did you guys have a fight?" Angela asked, concern tingeing her voice.

"No. We're fine. _She's_ fine," Booth corrected. His shoulders slouched forward, and Angela realized she had been wrong in identifying the emotions rolling over him. Yes, he looked sad and confused, but there was also an air of hopelessness surrounding him. No wonder it had taken her so long to identify; Booth never, ever looked _hopeless_. It was a sight as foreign as the sun rising from the west.

Angela leaned forward, trying to lock her gaze with his. He glanced up at her, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shut it, staring at his hands.

Seconds ticked by as Booth collected his thoughts, and when he finally spoke Angela could barely hear him. "Look, Angela… you know that I've experienced some changes in my personality since the coma, right?" She nodded, and Booth took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. "Well, I thought I was finally the same person I was before the surgery, and that gave me courage to do something. But now… now I don't know if I am the same person that I thought I was. Y'know, the same person that I was before. And now I don't know if I am that person. Anymore, that is.

"Okay, well that's an easy fix," Angela commented, shifting on the vinyl seat, "since I can assure you that you are still the same Seeley Booth I met six years ago." Booth went completely still, and Angela felt pressed to continue. "I mean sure, some things might have changed. Like, seeing you in a normal tie and socks and belt buckle today was just plain weird. Like, _really_ weird. But that's just the superficial stuff, you know? Hey, look at me," she implored, grabbing one of his hands as his gaze dropped, "you _are_ the same person. A coma might change whether you like boring socks or flashy socks, but it doesn't change who you are as a person. It doesn't change someone's heart, or their soul."

"Yeah, but it can sure change their brain," Booth mumbled, pulling his hand away. Angela felt a wave of confusion sweep through her.

"Not in the ways that matter," Angela insisted, but the hopelessness she sensed in Booth was rising, not diminishing. "Look Booth, why don't you just explain to me what's going on. I won't know what the right thing to say is until you do."

Booth stared at her, and Angela wondered how anyone could last over a minute in his interrogations. His gaze pierced her, and right before she was about to ask what the hell his deal was, something in his eyes shifted. He beckoned her closer, and Angela leaned forward, elbows pressing into the table.

"Angela, I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth. Can you promise me that?" She nodded slowly, and Booth locked his gaze with her, his anxiety and tension obvious. "Did you ever get the impression that I cared for Bones as more than just a partner?"

Angela tried. She really, really, tried, especially with how adamantly Booth was staring, but she still felt her face twist in disbelief. "Sweetie… are you really asking me if you were in love with Brennan before your surgery?"

Any last vestige of hope collapsed from Booth's face, one hand instinctively reaching into his pocket for his lucky poker chip. "Sweets was right," he mumbled, so softly Angela could barely hear it. Without looking at Angela, he continued. "I thought I might be feeling something for Tempera- Bones, something that was there before the tumor. But judging by your reaction, Sweets was right. My brain's just in a tizzy from the surgery."

"In that case, Sweets is a total dumbass."

Booth stared at her in disbelief, and Angela felt pressed to continue. "I mean, I know he's a good psychologist, but he's either working a different agenda or is a complete and utter dumbass, because there is no way anyone who has been around you and Brennan for more than two seconds would think that you weren't in love with each other."

"You realize you're saying that Bones is in love with me too?" Booth shot back, and Angela barely contained her squeal at the word ' _too_ ', at the unintended admission of Booth's love for his partner.

"As her best friend, I can't answer that," Angela replied, vowing to herself she would never answer a question as intimate as that on Brennan's behalf, despite Booth's persuasive interrogation gaze. "But… I can tell you that she trusts you more than anyone or anything in her life, that she would sacrifice her life for yours. As for the sexual part of things, I'm not even going to bother reassuring you on that, because there's no way you've been oblivious to the sexual tension that just _oozes_ whenever you two start making eyes at each other."

Booth was about to reply when the waitress came back, refilling Booth's coffee and bringing Angela her favorite tea, unintentionally pausing the conversation.

Long minutes ticked by. Angela sipped at her tea while Booth stared intently at the tabletop. Angela was in no rush; she would give him as long as he needed to collect his thoughts. Booth had always reminded her of a lone soldier, strong and stoic and never relying upon anyone or anything. She was happy to be able to help him through this, and honored that he trusted her enough to see him so vulnerable.

"You're saying Sweets is wrong," Booth mused, circling a finger around the lip of his coffee mug.

"Yes," Angela replied immediately.

"Sweets isn't normally wrong, Angela. I know he's young, and I know I tend to rag on him, but he's a damn good shrink. Plus, he has x-rays and MRI scans and fancy articles showing that this- everything I'm feeling- is all in my head. I can't just disregard that. I can't risk jeopardizing everything I have with Bones on emotions that I can't guarantee will last." He paused, then: "I can't risk hurting her like that."

Booth's voice hitched, and his pain broke her heart. She could see he was nearing a decision, and Angela would be damned if she didn't pull out all stops to convince this brilliant idiot of a man that his happiness lay with her brilliant idiot of a best friend.

"I'm not an FBI agent," Angela said. Booth looked up, obviously puzzled at the turn in conversation. "However, I do work alongside a pretty damn good FBI agent, and over the years I've seen how motives and duties can influence a person."

"Angela," Booth said, reaching to pull out his wallet, "if this is going to be some weird pep talk then I'm gonna go."

"Sit your ass back down," Angela barked out. Booth glanced up in shock, eyes wide- he had rarely seen this side of the artist, but his trusty gut warned him not to continue to provoke her. He slowly slid his wallet back into his pocket, then folded his hands on his lap like a child.

"Good boy," Angela said, and Booth felt immensely sorry for Hodgins. "Now, as I was _saying_ , sometimes people fudge the truth to ensure that they satisfy their superiors." At Booth's blank expression, Angela huffed and leaned forward on the table. "I'm talking about Sweets here, Booth. Geez, I thought you were the FBI agent."

"Sweets? Why would Sweets lie to me?" Booth asked, genuinely confused.

"Well, sweetie, he is employed by the FBI, so his first priority would be to ensure you and Brennan are working together as smoothly as possible. A relationship could complicate that. Plus, we know he's deceived you two before, what with the whole Brennan not leaving with Sully thing, and him lying about your death to test her. Plus there was the-"

"What?" Booth's voice was hard, tinged with something Angela had never heard. She met his gaze, and was shocked by the way his brown eyes had hardened. It was kind of hot, in a scary-intense sort of way. Only problem was, she had no idea what she said that would've caused him to have such an intense reaction.

"Sweetie, you're really not surprised that Sweets wants to keep you two together for the sake of the FBI?" Angela asked. "Like I said, I'm not even an FBI agent and that's pretty obvious to me."

"What? No, no, obviously I understand that," Booth replied, waving a hand in irritation. "I want to know about Sweets lying about my death to Brennan. He said he did it for national security and because she could compartmentalize it, and now you're saying he was testing her?"

"Oh. _Oh,_ " Angela said, leaning back in her seat, eyes wide. "Oh _shit_. You didn't know. Wait, you didn't know? I mean, I only got it out of Brennan because she was half-delirious with sleep deprivation but I assumed she told you right away. Though I did wonder why you didn't destroy Sweets, and…"

"Angela. Stop talking." Angela's gaze shot to Booth's face, and she was prepared to ream him out for essentially telling her to shut up, but the way his skin had paled stopped her. "What are you talking about? Please," he added when she hesitated.

"You need to understand, this is just what Brennan told me," Angela warned, waiting until Booth jerked his head in a nod before continuing.

"I was in your room with her after your brain surgery." Angela could tell by the way Booth's eyes widened that the conversation had taken a turn he hadn't expected. "I think you'd been in a coma for around two days, and the doctors had begun discussing what we would have to do if you didn't wake up. Well, they tried anyway," Angela chuckled, "since Brennan absolutely lost it when they made the mere suggestion that you weren't going to be 100% okay."

"Really?" Booth asked, and Angela nodded in confirmation.

"Brennan had barely slept by that point, since she refused to leave your room at all, and had been reading stacks and stacks of case studies on patients with comas similar to yours. I had come to visit you, and to see how she was doing." Angela paused, remembering how pale Brennan had been, the circles beneath her eyes so dark and sunken. She would've looked like a stranger if not for the determination burning in her blue eyes, all of her vast intelligence and stubbornness directed solely at Booth's survival.

"And?" Booth asked impatiently.

"Well, she kept saying she was fine because you were going to be fine, and was spouting off all these weird medical facts. It was kind of like dealing with Nigel Vincent, actually. But, then… it was like all of it just hit her. The reality of the situation finally kicked in, I think. I've never seen her like that, Booth."

Angela paused to gather her thoughts before continuing. "She told me that she hadn't been able to compartmentalize the first time you 'died', and that Sweets should've known that if he was an actual psychologist and not unethical experimenting imbecile. Apparently, he had decided not to tell Brennan about your death so he could study her reaction… to see how she would handle your loss."

Angela tried to make eye contact with Booth, but his gaze was back on his coffee cup, watching as his finger slowly circled the rim.

"She told me that his experiment made her realize that she wasn't capable of compartmentalizing your death- actually, she said your death is probably the only thing she _can't_ deal with. I grabbed her hand, and… she just lost it, Booth. I've never seen her cry like that." Angela's breathing hitched, her eyes stinging as she thought of her best friend's agony. "She stopped crying within a few minutes and apologized, of course. I told her she never had to apologize for being upset, but she had already started rereading your file and talking about the doctor's incompetence. We never talked about it again."

Booth's hand had long grown still, but his gaze was still on the cup, the coffee now cold.

"Anyway," Angela finished, "I thought you already knew about Sweets and everything. There must have been a reason Brennan didn't tell you, I guess."

 _That_ caused Booth to look up, and Angela felt her breath catch at the way his brown eyes glistened. Angela had joked time and time again at what a sexy man of action Agent Booth was, but if she was honest with herself, the action-oriented side of Booth didn't even hold a candle to the softer nature he hid so deep.

"I have to go," Booth said, abruptly standing and throwing a bill onto the counter.

"Booth," Angela said, reaching out to grab his forearm. "Please don't kill Sweets. Seriously. I don't want the death of a minor hanging over me like that!"

"What? No, of course not," Booth said absently, and Angela realized he hadn't even processed his inevitable fury at Sweets. Instead, he was only thinking of his partner, of the pain she must have felt, and Angela felt her heart ache for both of them.

"Okay," Angela murmured, letting her hand slide off his arm. Booth immediately headed for the door of the diner, only pausing in the doorway to whisper a quiet thanks before heading into the night.

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 **Next up: Booth confronts Sweets.**

 **Reviews make my world go 'round!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes:** I'm so sorry it took me so long to upload this chapter! I've been in and out of the hospital the past week, and it's made it really difficult to get to my computer and upload these chapters. Good news is that I'm feeling much better, so there shouldn't be anywhere near as long a wait for chapter 3! I hope you enjoy!

 _._

 _.._

 _Bang, bang, bang._

"Ugh," Sweets grumbled under his breath, half-asleep.

 _Bang, bang, BANG._

The psychologist jerked awake, the pillow he had unconsciously covered his ears with falling off the bed. He instinctively grabbed his phone, wincing as the bright screen informed him it was 1:17 AM.

The pounding at his front door continued, and Sweets reluctantly stumbled out of bed. Throwing a housecoat over his boxers and t-shirt, he padded toward the door, his confusion of who would be at his door so late mixing with apprehension of _why_ someone would be at his door in the middle of the night.

Checking the peephole, Sweets was surprised to see one very agitated Special Agent Seeley Booth outside his apartment. He rested his head against the doorframe, wondering if it would be possible or ethical to ignore his client, when he heard his neighbor yell at him to open the damn door and end all the racket.

Sweets had barely cracked the door open when Booth pushed his way inside. Booth took three steps before twisting around and stepping forward, essentially trapping Sweets between his body and the door.

The lighting was minimal in the doorway, but even in the dimness Sweets could see the barely contained anger crackling through Booth. Sweets forced himself to stand his ground, and licked his suddenly dry lips. Booth was silent, staring at him- no, _glaring_ at him, and Sweets felt the overwhelming need to break the silence.

"Agent Booth," he said, and instantly winced at the way his voice wavered. "Can I ask what you're doing on my doorstep at 1AM? I'm assuming this isn't a social visit- you know that I have office hours you can-"

"Shut up." The words were spoken quietly, but they echoed like a gunshot.

Sweets was a very, very smart man, and he quickly realized only two things could cause such an intense anger in Booth. Something had threatened Parker… or Dr. Brennan. Plus, judging by the way Booth was staring him down, he thought Sweets was somehow involved in this threatening.

Despite the severity of the situation, Sweets felt a hint of pride at his ability to so accurately deduce Booth's motives.

"Booth, if something is going on with Parker or Dr. Brennan, I can help. You don't have to barge in here in the middle of the night to ask assistance, you know."

"Shut. Up." Booth repeated, taking another step forward. Sweets had studied Booth for many years, and had always posited that a truly furious Booth would be a terrifying sight to behold. While his hypothesis was proving to be correct, he had never expected for that wrath to be directed solely at _him._

Sweets opened his mouth to ask what exactly was going on, but one look at Booth's face quickly reminded him of the edict to stay quiet.

"You lied to me," Booth finally said. His words were shaking, not just with anger but with betrayal, and Sweets realized what this must be all about.

"Agent Booth, if you're talking about the state of your brain after the coma, then I'm afraid I'm not lying to you," he said, talking very fast. "Just because those areas aren't the sole indicator for romantic and sexual attraction does not mean they aren't very important in determining your feelings for Dr. Brennan."

"Sole indicator- what?" Booth asked, a note of confusion entering his tone before his gaze hardened again. "That's not what I'm hear about, Sweets. _You_ _lied to me._ About Bones. You told me she could handle my death and she couldn't!"

 _Oh shit._

Sweets stayed very, very, still, hands open at his sides and palms facing Booth in an expression of calm submission.

Booth took another step forward, and Sweets had to crane his head back to maintain eye contact. His stomach was twisting with apprehension, his brain scrambling for an explanation that wouldn't result in his ass being kicked.

Sweets had nothing.

Realizing he was now staring at Booth's garishly striped tie, Sweets jerked his gaze up, absently noting how it seemed as though Booth was literally holding himself in place, his shoulders pressed back while his body leaned in.

 _He's waiting for me to confirm what he already knows_ , Sweets thought. Thinking back to his "experiment", at the agony he had put Dr. Brennan through… _I need to man up._

"You're right."

Booth's eyes widened in shock, and Sweets would bet his own expression mirrored Agent Booth's. He hadn't actually meant to say the words, but now that he had he felt suddenly lighter.

That is, until he was pushed up against his door.

Booth had managed to position them so that Sweets was slightly lower than him, despite the psychologist's taller stature. The doorknob dug uncomfortably into his side, as did Booth's forearm into his chest. However, he took solace in knowing that Booth only pinned him in a mildly uncomfortable position as opposed to something that would've hurt much, much more.

Booth held the position a moment longer before stepping back and freeing Sweets.

Sweets rested a hand on the door behind him to steady himself, reading Booth's message loud and clear. They would talk, and if Sweets' answer wasn't acceptable… well, then it would be a different story.

Booth leaned against the door the moment it shut, glancing upward as if the answer to all his questions were written on the ceiling. He took a few slow, deep breaths, holding the air deep in his lungs before exhaling, forcing his shoulders to relax with each exhalation.

Breathing techniques were essential to his success as a sniper; the ability to calm himself with a few simple breaths often meant the difference between a successful mission and a doomed one. However, Booth could count the number of times he had to calm himself this way as a civilian on one hand, and all but one of those occasion were directly tied to Parker or Bones.

Booth took one last deep breath before pushing away from the door. An unamused smirk crossed his face as he thought back to Sweets, eyes wide and hands trembling at what Booth's reaction would be to the truth.

The truth.

It hadn't taken much prodding for Sweets to confess all. Booth had stood silent, staring Sweets down as the psychologist admitted to manipulating Bones to determine whether her hyper-rationality could extend even to severe emotional trauma. He'd pled he hadn't known them back then and that he had regretted those actions upon realizing the true depths of Brennan's emotions, but Booth had heard enough.

Disgusted, he'd turned to leave before he broke his promise to Angela, when their earlier conversation echoed through his mind.

Turning back, he asked a pale-faced Sweets, " _What did you mean when you said my coma-brain wasn't a complete lie?"_

That's when the dam broke.

Sweets had tried side-stepping the question, but Booth's gut kept screaming that _this was important_ , maybe even more so than the revelation of Sweet's experimentation on Brennan. So he had pushed and prodded and threatened, until Sweets admitted "well no, the ventegmental area and dorsal caudate nucleus aren't the _only_ areas of the brain involved with love, and _yes_ your MRI scan did show activation in the anterior cingulate cortex and foci insula prior to your coma which have been linked to romantic love."

A cold blast of air startled Booth out of his revere, and he realized he'd been standing at the exit door of Sweets' apartment complex, lost in thought.

So. It was 2:37 in the morning. In the span of three hours, Booth had learned that he was in love with Bones, that he had been in love with Bones for quite some time, and that Sweets had manipulated him not just once, but twice.

That was a lot to take in.

Booth knew he should go home and sleep on what he'd learned, allow his emotions to settle before deciding his next move. He even drove to his apartment, but couldn't bring himself to get out of the vehicle. Signaling back onto the empty streets, Booth drove aimlessly, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he forced himself to confront exactly what he was feeling.

Anger was the first emotion that came to mind, betrayal a close second. He was tempted to end his self-analysis there, but Booth had always prided himself on his courage; running from his feelings now, when so much was on the line, would be a show of cowardice he could never live with.

He swore softly when he realized the third emotion was fear.

He was terrified. Terrified that his emotions were true, and that telling Bones might be the very thing to drive her away. Equally terrifying was realizing he might have blown his chance; telling her he loved her in an "atta girl kinda way" would make his real admission all the more overwhelming for her.

 _I have to tell her soon_. The thought seemed to originate not from his brain but his gut, and the thought was oddly relieving. His brain was unreliable, riddled with surgery and false memories and rehabilitation, but his gut? His gut had never once let him down.

A piercing honk jarred Booth out of his revere, and with a sudden start he realized he was parked outside of Brennan's apartment building. Of course he'd driven here when on autopilot; he'd made this trip a thousand times.

He went to shift into gear to leave, to head back home and get some sleep, but his gut stopped him. Hell, it practically screamed at him to stay, to do this _now_ , before the timing was wrong and it was too late or he lost the nerve.

Taking a deep breath and grabbing the manila folder on the passenger's seat, Booth left his car on the side of the road and headed into Brennan's building.

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